Illusions of Soul

Perhaps I was hasty. I could use her warmth tonight. Not just the physical warmth of her body, but the internal warmth. Her soul, her heart. Her blood.

Outside, people emanate heat. Inside, they are on fire. Some of them. Those who allow themselves to be. Others, those who ignore their yearnings, who silence their inner voices, they become as cold as I am.

I went to the house, the one they showed on the news. It was ultra-modern, with all the newest amenities. Yet stepping inside was like walking back in time. I could see Helen’s father lying in the scattered ashes. I could see her mother hanging in the outline on the wall.

I know the scenario absolutely. I did not commit the acts, not this time, but the crime belongs to me.

And now, I think I understand why I am here.

I didn’t return to Helen. I’d lost my appetite.

And my soul.

I didn’t care that I had left her in a house with the bodies of her dead parents. No, not just dead. Decimated. What a pretty picture she was left there to look at.

They were out far on the edge of town. And there would be no agencies coming to the rescue. No children’s services. No police force. Not back then.

Not even neighbors. It would take someone finally noticing that she and her parents were missing for them to think to look.

But Helen wasn’t going to be high on the list of concern. Several people died that night, and more than one person went missing.

My disappearance was thanks to Haydn. As was Paul’s. The rest of the destruction was due solely to me.

She’s sleeping. She has been for hours. On her stomach, sprawled bonelessly across the bed.

She’s content. Relaxed. I’m about to destroy all of that.

Ten thousand dollars are hidden amidst her things. I hope that she finds it before she has too much time to think about money. Money is the world’s greatest, most unnecessary, stressor. There are really far greater things to worry about. She’ll have enough of them without that one trivial concern. I know it’s going to be cold comfort, but it’s all that I can offer.

There is a bruise on the base of her throat. I must have done it by accident. When I put my face close to the skin there, I can smell the blood, but I’ve still never tasted. It’s proof to me that I am stronger than nature. And stronger than I thought.

If she does stir before sunrise, she’ll think I’ve gone out to do my usual nighttime prowl, to return to her with a small feast by morning. When she wakes in the daylight, the food will be here waiting for her. But I’ll be gone.

I hope she doesn’t hate me.

Now I can see it, what Haydn saw. I can see that I deserved to be abanoned.

What I had seen in Paul, the animal just beneath the surface, she saw in me.

She thought that she had created a monster. A common vampire. Those were the traits that I showed to her. And she didn’t want to stand by and watch me become that. It is not what she had sired me to be.

The look from that night lingers in my consciousness. It is my compass now. Before I take a single step, I think of whether it could earn that look of disapproval from her.

While I couldn’t comprehend it at the time, I understand now what she was thinking, and now every time my memory returns me to that night, to that encounter in the doorway, I hear Haydn’s silent question.

What have I done?

You would think that I would hate her, the way that she left me alone in an existence that I didn’t understand.

But I could never hate her.

Never.

Did I really believe that there was a possibility that the fates would forget about me? That they brought me here to be alone in this room with this girl, and for no other reason?

Maybe that’s what I hoped. Secretly.

But fate forgets no one. When there are plans for you, fate is very aware of where you are.

You can’t outrun it.

You can’t hide from it.

You can only deny it if you choose, and deal with those consequences, or you can yield to its wishes and hope you survive what it has called you to do.

If I could sleep, I would never have seen it. But I’m sure the fates knew that, knew that I would be leaning against the headboard, running my fingers through her hair, with the news muted on the television.

I didn’t need the sound. The images were more than enough.

Footage of a grisly crime scene.

A fireplace with scattered ashes where someone had been burned.

A hole in the wall, surrounded in blood, where someone had been staked.

I remember those marks well.

And outside of the house, a little girl being carried to a police cruiser, wrapped in a blanket, too in shock to cry.

She abandoned me. I was furious. I was willing to serve her, to learn from her, but she left me to find my own way, with no guidance at all.

Was there no loyalty amongst vampires?

The answer is no. There isn’t. So, she expected none from me. I understand that now.

And she may have been right, because, while I wanted to follow her anywhere, my most base instincts would have led me to defy her somewhere down the line. She knew that then, even if I didn’t.

But she didn’t think me a lost cause either. Something must have given her hope. Something held her back. She may have abandoned me there to fend for myself, but it was completely within her power to just kill me.

She loves to sleep. She should go pro. She can sleep the whole night away, and sometimes part of the day.

But only if I’m here. She’ll wrap around me and be out in an instant.

I sneak out some nights. I have to. I have to eat. But I don’t keep it a secret. The mornings, when she wakes up to a full breakfast waiting for her on the table, she knows I’ve been gone, but she never asks me where.

I used to sleep well, back when I was human. And then again when I was so far from it that nothing I did affected my ability to rest easy. But it’s been a long time since sleep has come so effortlessly. The thoughts that sneak into my mind when I don’t have the conscious control to hold them at bay are enough to keep my eyes wide open.

I look back on the rocky course with such regret.

And nostalgia.

It did hurt less to be utterly unsympathetic.

I left Helen in the room with her dead parents. She was no longer of use to me. The only one I was concerned with was Haydn. Her abrupt departure had shaken me. Her disapproval had done far more damage.

I was hers. She made me. How could she not want me?

I followed her scent, so enticing, and caught her at the edge of the road. She shook me off like she would an insect. And, to her, I was.

She regretted it. I could see it clearly in the full moon’s light. But she didn’t try to hide it either.

“I should have killed you,” she said.

Then she hit me. She hit me so hard I flew back and slammed into the front of the cottage. It didn’t knock me out, but it stunned me enough to give her time. When I finally made it to my feet, Haydn was gone.